learning to fly

 

When I first fell in love with the Pink Floyd it was through Wish you were here. Highly curious and instantly attracted by the playful notes, in the adolescent era of rage and rejection (my top 3 were Metallica, Marilyn Manson and a Romanian indie band called OCS) the little song reached my softer side (I also liked folk) and I knew I wanted more.

The second time I fell in love with Pink Floyd was when I bought The dark side of the moon. I was 18.

Year after year their music, whether made by one or all of them, grew on me. Funny thing, it was never in my head, on my mind but let itself listened to when I most needed it.

Third time I fell in love with the Pink Floyd I was 21 and a half and just discovered the Division Bell. I found myself in a situation that suited perfectly every song of the album and I was obsessively playing it.

Eventually over time I got to discover all the other albums and singles and films and tours but now it’s all about Learning to fly. Today, 13 years later.

It was about damn time.

 

*photos taken at the Pink Floyd exhibition: Their mortal remains, @ Victoria&Albert Museum, London

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*chapter 4, where I’m trying to go back

time flowed from the end to the beginning of life (Dictionary of the Khazars, M. Pavic)

garden

there are only the ghosts of spiders from that corner in our balcony, that corner where we used to listen to the town’s urban dogs and cats and where we smoked our evenings out before going to sleep.

There’s only the smell of the neighbourhood’s smokehouses and of our spoken, sometimes written words; the smell of paper.

The blackness of our garden and our silence, fear digging up the ground; the earth, our roots digging themselves up amongst bunches of poppy flowers and spring onions, fresh garlic waking up its leaves with a sound so strange (like a howling), this green werewolf.

Our roots, our insectariums, our herbarium – a systematically arranged collection of dried plants.

And then a song to deeply fall asleep.

#love series  -11

that green door opening every time your heart beats. wondering is it love? if it hurts. how do you like your women? rare medium rare.

when I came back to London, the sunset wasn’t on my side.  All of its red, pink, orange and purple were sneaking in through the opposite  windows. I wished I could have seen it, I think. Or maybe not. There was this blue on my side. Blue was ok to begin with. Green door on the other side. When I think about it, I see myself inside my mother’s womb and trust me, it’s not my fault I want to find that happiness again. With you, the Eros. The vital energy. Door opening and closing. Baby food. Spooning when we’re sleeping. Dead birds and cats and dogs; all the pets I had as a child disappeared like they weren’t even there. What’s on the other side of that door ?